Free The Last Marine by Cara Crescent

weapon. He stuck the Lockheed Martin in his pants at the small of his back. Then he dug some more until he found the night vision glasses. He slipped them on and the desert lit up a bright lavender.
    Like her eyes.
    To hell with her eyes.
    Why are you planning to go after her, then?
    Was he? He wasn’t even sure which way she went. Away from that outpost, no doubt, but that left three directions. She didn’t give him the sense she was lost. It had taken him almost two hours to catch up to her yesterday and in all that time she’d headed in a straight line.
    But she’s alone. Down one med-wand.
    His damned conscience was going to drive him stark-raving batshit. He scanned the desert floor until he found the grooves of her footprints in the black sand. “Gotcha.”
    She must have some clue where she was headed as determined as she was.
    He walked out into the desert night with confident strides, secure in his belief she couldn’t have gone too far. But as the night wore on and the horizon lit with dawn, he began to wonder how long he’d slept. Aside from an occasional footprint, he saw no sign of her—or anyone else. The desert was barren, the wind shuffling the sand the sole sound. He saw no birds, no reptiles, no people. He was alone. The thought brought him up short, unsettling him. How long could they survive out here in the baking sun with no other life to support them? There were no animals to hunt. No plants to eat. No water. The challenge of continuing to cross the desert became daunting, indeed. So much so, that like any sane man, he considered going back.
    But if all this made him nervous, what must the woman be feeling? She must be terrified. If he could find her, she would no doubt be grateful and gladly tell him anything he wanted to know.
    Griffin pressed on, sometimes jogging, but mostly walking, conserving his energy. He’d wait until tonight to drink one of the boxed waters. In the cool darkness his body would be able to retain the liquid for a while.
    By the time he caught up with her, it was almost dusk and he heard her long before he saw her. She’d made it clear across the desert flats and into what he’d begun to think of as enemy territory. She was damned brave. Or crazy as a feline snorting catnip.
    From a distance, with the desert heat wafting up from the sand and making objects in the distance seem to move, he thought he’d seen people walking ahead of him. They were rocks. The haphazard black outcroppings jutted up in strange, thin octagonal shapes resembling large crystals except they held no beauty. They did, however, carry an echo: When she screamed, the sound bounced off the rocks, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
    Griffin pulled his sidearm and froze, listening for any other sound. There was a shuffling and a thud. Softer, the sound didn’t echo as much and he zeroed in on her location, setting off at a sprint. When she screamed a second time, his heart leapt in his chest.
    Christ. Had she run into more locals? Wild animals? He barreled past the rocks, dodging this way and that. He was closer. He could hear her sobbing. Moaning. Adrenaline surged through him as the urge to kill, to protect or die trying, swelled through him. Griffin ran past one last stand of stone and came to an abrupt halt.
    She was sprawled on the ground with something pinned beneath her legs, pounding the living hell out of it with a rock. “Die, damn you.” Crying in earnest, her swings grew weaker by the second and the moaning creature didn’t seem willing to go down without a fight.
    Was that a scarecrow? He strode over, aimed and fired a laser in its brain. At least he hoped that’s what he hit—both ends of the creature looked remarkably similar.
    Prudence skittered backward over the hot sand. He might say she cowered, but her chin still jutted out mutinously. She appeared ready to fight, but unsure of how to proceed.
    “What the hell is it?” He waved the gun toward the